The Hanging Tree
by xoxoMockingjayoxox
Summary: are you, are you, coming to the hanging tree,  to escape the capitol  and be free with me?  To sing a banned song is to defy the Capitol, but when your existance already does that, does it matter?   Rated T for suicide and execution


The little girl curled up, drawing on the coal dust that mad a thin film over her grandmother's floor. Her grandmother sat in a rickety old armchair, her knitting needles going click-click-click as strands of old jumpers weaved into a new one for her beloved granddaughter. Her eyes sparkled as she watched the little girl draw a wobbly house in the soot. Beside the house stood a small blob with pig tails and a larger one with a stick; in the air above the blob's heads floated a heart. The little girl added a cat to the drawing. The cat whose likeness had been depicted on the sooty canvas was curled up, purring, on the old woman's lap. The Little girl looked up at her granny and smiled- "home," she lisped, through pale, childlike lips.

The old woman shifted to look closer. "Yes, home." Her eyes took in the little girl in a dirty pink dress, with her classic seam looks and thin arms and legs. She smiled up at her granny. "I love you, Poppy King, always know that." Her grandmother pulled her into a hug and murmured into her hair. The little girl shifted free and looked up at her granny, "I love you, granny King, always know that." Her granny laughed and stood up with a groan. She made her way over to the fire and prodded it. The flames licked up the sticks and turned them to blackness- the blackness mirrored her feelings, concealed from her twelve year old granddaughter. She led her love to the rickety old bed in the corner. She laid her in it and told her a story.

"There was once a married couple. They lived happily in district twelve together. But one day three men died in town. The husband was blamed, and his wife ran far away, to be free from the district. She perished in the woods, and her body was hung up next to her husband's to teach people not to run away. The married couple were visited, only once, by a little boy. He released a single mockingjay and began to sing. Do you know what he sung?"

Two voices filled the room- one sweet and pure with youth, the other tired and rusty with age, as they sung the words:

"Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree<br>Where they strung up a man they say murdered three.  
>Strange things did happen here<br>No stranger would it be  
>If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.<p>

Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree<br>where the dead man called out for his love to flee.  
>Strange things did happen here<br>No stranger would it be  
>If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."<p>

When they'd finished, the grandmother went on. "The little boy cut them free and burned the bodies, scattering them to the wind and setting them free, like they'd always wanted. The mockingjay flew into district twelve and the song spread like wildfire. Everyone began to sing. The Capitol drove all the mockingjays away, and quelled the singing. But we still sing it, you and I, to keep it safe."

When the little girl awoke, her grandmother was sat, as always, in the armchair. She held in her hands the finished jumper. She beckoned that the little girl should put it on, and she did- feeling warm inside the soft wool. Her grandmother was dressed in her dress and shawl, ready to go outside. She the little child trudged through the spring air to the meadow. They reached a patch of dandelions and plucked them to make a salad. Then they picked some small mint leaves and pulled up some garlic. Then they hurried to the butchers and, with money from the clothes the grandmother sold, brought some cheap goat's meat. Rooba smiled at the little girl and her grandmother, giving them a little bit of rabbit as well. The little girl smiled back and handed Rooba a little bit of wool that she'd made into a bracelet. Rooba waved the pair goodbye.

When they both got home, that grandmother boiled half the dandelions, mint and lamb into a stew with some old leaves. When it was finished, they tucked into the meal quietly. Then the little girl looked up. "When the reapings come tomorrow, will they choose me?" "Maybe, my sweet. But you won't ever go, I promise. They tucked in to the bitter stew, swallowing every last mouthful. Then they went to work.

The grandmother picked up her book of dress patterns and some old dress of hers, which she cut up with long scissors. The little girl sat making jewelry out of wool and wooden beads- humming 'the hanging tree' softly. The odd family sat, in a warm room from a crackling fire, the scent of lamb stew in the air and the click-click-click of needles making the little girl's first reaping outfit. When the dress was done, the old woman roused from her chair and lay it down. Then she led the little girl to bed and beckoned her to stay there until she returned. Then she slipped out of the door.

The little girl lay in silence, hoping her granny would come back with gingerbread for her- like she had done before, when her mother had died. The little girl thought that gingerbread would keep her tears away, if she was reaped the next day.

When the old lady returned, the little girl saw she hadn't brought anything. Instead, her long skirt was splattered in mud and her hands were cracked and bleeding. The little girl watched silently as her granny made them a small bread loaf and split it in two, making sure her granddaughter's half was bigger. They tucked into their small meal and then the little girl pulled the duvet up to her chin. The old woman started to sing. It was 'the hanging tree' but Poppy had never heard these verses before:

"Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree<br>Where I told you to run so we'd both be free.  
>Strange things did happen here<br>No stranger would it be  
>If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.<p>

Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree<br>Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.  
>Strange things did happen here<br>No stranger would it be  
>If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."<p>

When the grandma had finished, the little girl looked up to her. "Where is the hanging tree?" "It's in the heart of the forest, where the Capitol won't let us go- where people can be free." The grandmother tucked the little girl into bed with a smile, then went to her own armchair and wept.

The next day, the little girl was awoken early by her grandmother. Her grandmother wordlessly dressed her in fine clothes, brushing her hair and even doing her makeup with the little she could afford. Like preparing an animal for the market, presenting it so it will look nice when it dies. "Reaping day, poppet. We'll be free soon." Her words rang in Poppy's ear as she remembered the lyrics of the song last night.

_Are you, are you,_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where I told you to run so we'd both be free. _

Was her grandma telling her to run?

Her grandmother saw the realization in her grandmother's eyes and gave a slight nod. She whispered "If you go into that arena, our lives will belong to the Capitol." "I won't be chosen, grandma," The little girl whispered, nuzzling into her grandma and hugging her as tight as she possibly could. The grandmother hugged back, and they squeezed until the clock struck. Time- Time to go, time to leave, time to die.

They walked, hand in hand, to the square. The little girl walked slowly to the twelve year olds. Effie Trinket tottered onto the stage. "Hello, district twelve! Time to pick our two lucky, lucky girl and boy. Ladies first and may the odds… be ever in your favor. The lucky lady is…Poppy King!" There was a small whisper of movement from the crowd, and Poppy knew her grandmother had gone. She charged off in the other direction, slipping under arms and avoiding peacekeepers, charging around corners and scrambling over rooftops to find a gap under the rickety old fence, dusty and overgrown, but clearly it had been used recently- by her grandma?

She heard 'the hanging tree' being sung softly. She chased the sound, to find a single mockingjay. She continued past it to find that the concentration of birds got thicker and thicker, until she saw a withered old figure, hunched on an old crate beneath a twisted old tree branch. From the branches hung two nooses. Her grandmother looked up. "You don't have to do this, you know, you can run- survive in the woods." Poppy's eyes glistened with tears, "What about you?" "They'll use me to find you. Let me die then set me free." Poppy shook her head, "We'll be free together. But you have to tell me this first- how did you know my name would be pulled from that reaping ball?"

The old woman shook her head. "There was once an episode of the games. Your mother and father, they were reaped- though they weren't together at the time. Then in the arena, their strategy was to pretend to be in love. But your father's love was real… they unwittingly broke the rules, starting a rebellion. Your mother, father, auntie, your parent's mentor and your mother's friend were executed. Your mother was heavily pregnant, but we hid it… somehow. When she died I cut you free from her womb and raised you as my own. I was declared innocent and allowed to live, and you were my adopted child from the orphanage. But someone high up found out. They want you dead, and for me to suffer. This way, it'll be our hands, not theirs, that ends your life."

The little girl nodded, and taking her grandmother's hand, they stood at the nooses. They slipped them on, side by side, and stepped into freedom.


End file.
